Chapter 9 - Celeste’s Private Warning
Celeste knocked on my hotel-room door at 11:06 that night.
I almost didn’t open it.
When I did, she looked nothing like the woman from the convention lobby.
No cream blazer.
No diamonds.
No perfect makeup.
Just sweatpants, a gray sweater, and swollen eyes.
“We need to talk.”
I stepped into the hallway.
“My sons are sleeping.”
“So is Preston.”
“What do you want?”
She crossed her arms as if cold.
“Nathan’s scared.”
“That makes two hundred people.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Celeste looked toward the elevator.
“He thinks the investigation could destroy the foundation.”
“If he paid for confidential materials, maybe it should.”
“You don’t understand what’s tied to it.”
“Then explain.”
She lowered her voice.
“The foundation funds scholarships.”
“I know.”
“Two hundred students this year.”
I hesitated.
“Nathan thinks if donors pull out, they’ll lose everything.”
“That doesn’t excuse cheating.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“Then why are you here?”
Celeste looked at me.
“Because Nathan is going to blame you.”
I almost laughed.
“He’s been doing that since 2013.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“I mean publicly.”
My smile disappeared.
“He wants to say you manipulated the investigation because Eli and Ethan were losing to Preston.”
“That doesn’t even match the scores.”
“He doesn’t care.”
“He’d need evidence.”
“He has something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I heard him with his lawyer.”
She looked ashamed.
“He said he has records proving you contacted Gregory Vale.”
My blood went cold.
“I’ve contacted Vale dozens of times. We served on committees together.”
“I know.”
“He’s going to make it look like more.”
Celeste nodded.
“Probably.”
“Why are you warning me?”
Her face twisted.
“For Preston.”
I waited.
“He hasn’t eaten since lunch. He thinks his entire academic career is fake.”
“That isn’t true.”
“I know.”
“Tell him.”
“He doesn’t believe me.”
“Why would he?”
The words came out sharper than I intended.
Celeste flinched.
I almost apologized.
Then remembered this was the woman who had known about my children for sixteen years.
“You knew Nathan lied to Preston.”
“Yes.”
“You let him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She closed her eyes.
“Because I wanted the lie too.”
That honesty surprised me.
“When I met Nathan, he told me your marriage was finished.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I learned that later.”
“You stayed.”
“Yes.”
“Then you got pregnant.”
“Yes.”
She wiped her cheek.
“I told myself you were unhappy anyway. That he had chosen me because we were meant to be together. Every selfish cliché women like me tell ourselves.”
I said nothing.
“Then Preston was born.”
Her voice broke.
“And Nathan said he wanted a clean family.”
That phrase again.
“I knew what that meant.”
“You knew he was abandoning Eli and Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“And you allowed it.”
“Yes.”
She looked directly at me.
“I’m not asking forgiveness.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking you to protect Preston from us.”
That stopped me.
“He’s not my child.”
“No.”
“But he trusts you.”
“Celeste—”
“He asked me tonight why you were kinder to him in twenty-four hours than we’ve been all week.”
My anger disappeared.
She covered her mouth.
“He said he’s spent his whole life terrified of disappointing Nathan.”
I thought of Preston before his debate.
The rehearsed answers.
The tight shoulders.
The relief after losing honestly.
Celeste continued.
“I thought giving him every opportunity made me a good mother.”
“It doesn’t make you a bad one.”
She stared at me.
“I slept with your husband.”
“That made you a bad friend to another woman.”
A tiny laugh escaped her.
“Fair.”
“But motherhood isn’t one act.”
Her face softened.
“Do you really believe that?”
“I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve made mistakes too.”
She shook her head.
“Not like mine.”
“Pain isn’t a competition.”
For a moment, we were not wife and mistress.
Current and former.
Winner and loser.
We were two middle-aged women standing in a hotel hallway wondering whether our sons would survive the mistakes adults made around them.
Celeste reached into her pocket.
She handed me a flash drive.
“What is this?”
“Nathan’s foundation files.”
I stared.
“Celeste.”
“Payments. Vale. Consultants. Emails.”
“Did you steal these?”
“They’re from our home computer.”
“That may matter legally.”
“I know.”
“Why give them to me?”
“Because I don’t trust Nathan to tell the truth anymore.”
I didn’t take it.
“You need to give this directly to investigators.”
She nodded.
“I will.”
“Then why show me?”
“Because there’s something else on it.”
“What?”
Her face changed.
“A folder with your name.”
My pulse stopped.
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“What’s inside?”
“I didn’t open everything.”
“Celeste.”
She whispered, “Nathan has been keeping track of you.”
A chill moved down my arms.
“For how long?”
“At least ten years.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
She looked down.
“I expect you to believe I’m finally scared enough to stop helping him.”
The elevator chimed.
Celeste walked toward it.
Then turned.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“The earliest file in that folder is a photograph.”
I felt suddenly unable to breathe.
“What photograph?”
“Eli and Ethan.”
She swallowed.
“They’re about six years old.”
My entire body went cold.
Nathan had disappeared from their lives when they were three.
He had claimed for thirteen years that I kept him away.
But if he possessed a photograph of the boys at six…
Then he had known where they were.
He had seen them.
May you like
Maybe more than once.
And he had chosen not to walk through the door.
